The Things That Call You Back
by rheinland
Summary: The last thing to go before you die is your hearing. Peeta's thoughts as he's dying during the Quarter Quell before Finnick revives him.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins.

They say the last thing to go when you die is your hearing.

It happens to be true. Because my heart isn't beating, and my lungs aren't pumping air. I am trapped, encased in my own body, enveloped in a stillness unachievable in life. I know that I am dying. May already be dead. But I can still hear the jungle; the chirruping of insects, the whispering of the leaves rustling overhead, birds calling to each other in the canopy. All are garbled, muffled, as if I'm listening to them from underwater.

_Underwater? Am I drowning? I can't swim_.

No, that isn't right. I was in the forest. I was going uphill. I was with Finnick, and Mags. And Katniss. Then I realize that I'm failing her. I'm failing them all. I want to break out of this shell, I _need_ to break out of this shell. I have to keep her alive. I have to make sure that the others don't turn on her, kill her in her sleep. Take advantage of her in a moment of weakness. I don't want Finnick to kiss her, seduce her. But I know that I am slipping farther and farther away. The birds are getting quieter. The jungle is retreating, almost out of reach. I wonder vaguely at the whiteness that is surrounding me. Does this happen to everyone? At least I don't feel pain. At least dying is quiet. Almost like falling asleep, really. I have never felt so at peace in my life. The first time in what feels like forever that I will sleep and have no nightmares. My brain is shutting down, circuit by circuit. Soon it will be over. I don't know where I'm going, or if there's anywhere to go after this at all. Maybe these few moments are all that I have left.

Then I hear it. _Peeta._ My name. It sounds so far away, but it's there. _Peeta_. Again, louder. _Peeta!_ The voice is familiar. My mother's? No, that can't be it. It's not her voice that I want to hear while I die. And then it's so close, it's as if it's speaking right into my ear. I can almost feel the warm breath that must flow from the mouth that speaks. My name, over and over again.

_Katniss_.

The name comes to me of its own accord. _Katniss_. _Katniss_. And I remember. Falling backward in a moment of surprise and white-hot heat, my knife hitting the forcefield. The Quarter Quell. Sleepless nights with Katniss in my arms, the churning of the trail wheels like a lullaby. Kisses that might not have meant anything to her, but meant everything to me. Nightlock berries ready to be eaten. The cave at the hunger games. Katniss's gentle hands washing my skin free of grime in the stream. Watching her volunteer for Prim. Knowing that I could never kill her. The bread and the bruise.

The whiteness around me begins to darken around the edges, like an old photograph. It yellows, and cracks, and falls away. I see her in the cracks, a whisp of dark hair, a flash of gray eyes. _Katniss_. _I'm coming_. The thought consumes me. Every wire in my brain is flickering her image, her name repeats over and over. _Katniss. I'm coming. Katniss. I'm coming. _I feel myself, my consciousness pouring back into my body, like batter into the pan. My chest is expanding. There is a jolt under my ribs, and warmth floods through me as my heart revives my veins. The sounds of the jungle are becoming crisp and clear. I'm coughing and and my throat is hurting, but it doesn't matter. A small price to pay for breathing this air, for having a pulse.

Her thin, callussed fingers are pushing my hair back from my face, are pressing against my neck, and I know what they're checking for. She needs to be sure. And even though I feel so tired, I open my eyes, because I need to be sure too. That it's her gray eyes staring down at me, flooded, red around the rims. _Katniss. _I want to cry too, with relief, with despair at how close I had been from turning away from her and treading into an abyss I would never have returned from. But I know that's not what she needs. She has shed enough tears.

"Careful," I say, trying to smile. "There's a force field up ahead."

Then she's laughing, and I know we can go on.


End file.
